


Carpe Vinem

by Cynonyms



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Food Trucks, M/M, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynonyms/pseuds/Cynonyms
Summary: Enjolras takes another bite, and grins up at Grantaire. “Honestly, now that you’ve started feeding me, you’ve spoiled me for Subway. I can never get another subway sandwich again.”“You eat Subway?" Gantaire looks horrified, shaking his head. “No, no, no. I’m here on Mondays, and Wednesdays to Fridays. Come get your lunch here, I refuse to have one of my friends paying for such garbage.” With that said, he bids the other goodbye, explaining that the dinner rush was starting soon.Cosette grins, mouthing “friend” at him, and Enjolras scowls down at his next bite. It’s delicious.Or, the one where Grantaire runs the food truck "Bonhomies" and Enjolras becomes smitten with the food (and the man).





	1. Hors d'oeuvres

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write about Grantaire feeding Enjolras

The first time they met, Grantaire had taken one look at Enjolras before bursting out laughing. He was laughing so hard that Jehan ended up taking Enjolras’s order, ringing him up before giving Grantaire—who was still laughing—an exasperated look. 

“Sorry,” he had snickered, blowing Jehan a kiss before leaning over the counter to look at Enjolras again. “It's just, you are such a fucking hipster. What the fuck.”

Enjolras frowned, his glasses slipping from his nose as he glanced down at himself before looking back up at Grantaire. “I'm sorry,” he spluttered out, “are you allowed to talk to customers like that?”

“No, no, seriously,” Grantaire smirked. “Do you have a mirror at home? Do you really come out dressed in plaid, wire frame glasses, and—” he peered over the counter to scrutinize Enjolras’s shoes. “—Converse?” He laughed again, a sudden burst of sound, before sticking his hand out, a wide grin replacing the smirk on his face. “Welcome to Bonhomies. I’m Grantaire, but you can call me R.”

Jehan interrupted, looking amused. “I’m Jehan. And this is your pate baguette.”

“Enjolras” he said politely, taking the sandwich from Jehan and giving Grantaire’s hand a quick shake. The sandwich was wrapped neatly in wax paper, the food truck’s logo stamped on top, and it was still warm in his hands. “Thank you,” he told Jehan, nodding his head awkwardly in a way that he hoped conveyed goodbye, before walking away. 

He could hear Jehan admonishing Grantaire about scaring customers away, particularly the cute ones as he left. He slowed down, but he was too far away to properly hear Grantaire’s response. He could only recognize the sharp bark of laughter before a group of students sweep him away. Shrugging to himself, he hurries to his classroom, unwrapping the sandwich as he goes.

***

As it turned out, the sandwich was delicious. The baguette was nice and toasted with a light layer of butter and crispy lettuce, and just a hint of mustard coating the rustic country pate that Enjolras couldn’t get out of his head. (He also couldn’t get a certain dark haired food truck manager out of his head, nor his sharp echoes of laughter, but that was neither here nor there.) 

And so, two days later, on Friday afternoon, Enjolras and Combeferre walk to the center of campus after classes, hoping to catch the food truck before the dinner rush.

Bonhomies is apparently a campus favorite, and Grantaire and Jehan park on campus three or four times a week during lunch and dinner rush, serving sandwiches and chips. (“Let’s be real,” Enjolras had overheard one of his students saying in the hallways, “their sandwiches are good, but Bonhomies is serving looks more than anything.”) 

By the time they reach the food trucks, there are a few people loitering around. Bonhomies is parked across from another popular truck, the Spud Studs, and Enjolras recognizes Cosette and Marius outside Bonhomies, chatting with Jehan. 

“Why, if it isn’t Professor Enjolras and Combeferre,” Cosette teases, pulling Enjolras in for a hug. “I didn’t realize you two ever left your offices before midnight.” Enjolras laughs, opening his mouth to protest and sees Grantaire appearing from the depths of the truck. He grins as he sees Enjolras, still in Cosette’s cluthces.

“Cosette, honey pooches, you only said you’d bring Marius today. You didn’t tell me you’d be bringing an actual god to my humble abode. And Combeferre too,” Grantaire grins, holding out a fist for Combeferre to fist bump, looking extremely pleased when Combeferre returns the gesture. “Man, I never see you around here. Is this a hallucination? Did you finally manage to design some hologram to walk around campus in your stead?" 

Combeferre laughs, and Enjolras feels a twinge in his stomach as he looks between his best friend and the food truck manager. “I didn’t know you two knew each other,” he blurts out, finally wriggling his way out of Cosette’s embrace. 

“Courfeyrac introduced us a while back,” Combeferre says, giving him a questioning glance. “You know how Courfeyrac is, he knows everyone and everything.”

Grantaire chuckles, shaking his head. “Do you guys just want your usual then?” 

Cosette, Marius and Combeferre all make noises in the affirmative. 

Grantaire hums, turning his attention to Enjolras. “So, Apollo. Any allergies I should know about; anything you don’t eat?”

“No.”

“Cool, let me surprise you then. Be ready in a sec, make yourselves comfortable.”

Cosette and Marius lead them to a picnic table, set up near the trucks. He sits down next to Combeferre and watches Cosette and Marius get situated. Cosette ends up half on Marius’s lap and Enjolras is reminded once again of why he usually stays in the office. 

Combeferre coughs pointedly and they startle apart. Marius turns red, but Cosette is delightfully unashamed, clasping her hands together and shifting her attention to Enjolras. 

“I didn’t know you knew Grantaire as well, Apollo.” She’s smirking and Enjolras takes a second to reminisce back to when he still thought she was little angel in pastel dresses. As it was, by the time he noticed her combat boots and the mischievous gleam in her eye, it was too late. She had managed to learn all his deepest, darkest secrets, and he was too charmed to care. 

Enjolras scowls at the nickname. “I met him a couple days ago during lunch, so really I don’t know anything about him besides his name.”

“But you want to?” Cosette’s eyes are gleaming in a way that Enjolras has come to recognize as trouble. Usually for him. 

“I want to get to know his sandwiches better,” he answers honestly.

Cosette opens her mouth to gloat, but before she can, a shuffle sounds behind them. “That is exactly what I like to hear,” Grantaire beams. He has a small tray in his left hand, filled with sandwiches, and a single sandwich in his right hand. Setting the tray down in front of the others, he holds the sandwich out to Enjolras with a small smile on his face. “It's something I’m trying out, messing with the proportions or whatnot. Try it and let me know how it is.”

Enjolras takes the sandwich, unwrapping the wax paper and sniffs it. “So what you’re saying is, I’m your guinea pig?”

Grantaire shrugs, gesturing for him to take a bite. 

It’s good. The chicken is moist and tender, the buttery sauce coming through with hints of garlic and something he can’t quite name. There’s a bit of avocado in there, thick slices of tomato, and a crunch of bacon. He swallows and just barely manages to bite back a moan. 

“It’s really good,” he says, a little embarrassed. “What is it?” 

Grantaire looks pleased, a shy little smile on his face. “Spit-roasted chicken with garlicky aïoli, but I wasn’t really sure how the aïoli was going to turn out.”

Enjolras takes another bite, and grins up at Grantaire. “Honestly, now that you’ve started feeding me, you’ve spoiled me for Subway. I can never get another subway sandwich again.”

“You eat Subway?" Gantaire looks horrified, shaking his head. “No, no, no. I’m here on Mondays, and Wednesdays to Fridays. Come get your lunch here, I refuse to have one of my friends paying for such garbage.” With that said, he bids the other goodbye, explaining that the dinner rush was starting soon. 

Cosette grins, mouthing “friend” at him, and Enjolras scowls down at his next bite. It’s delicious.

***

Cosette spends the next weekend texting him random facts about Grantaire. There are facts like, did you know Grantaire boxes? And dances? And plays the guitar? He was a renowned Michelin star chef, did you know that? Did you know about Grantaire’s tattooos? Don’t you really have a thing for tattoos? 

And then there are facts like, did you know Grantaire helps support other small, local businesses? Did you know Grantaire only buys cruelty-free produce? Is that your secret kink Enjolras, have I figured you out?

Enjolras wants to scream.

(Honestly, who has time to do all of that and still run a food truck? There’s a saying somewhere (it’s framed on Courfeyrac’s wall) that reads, the way to Enjolras’ heart is through his stomach, and that saying is like one hundred percent accurate. And no he doesn’t want to talk about the tattoos or the fact that Grantaire is a small local business who supports other small local businesses. Like he never wants these things to be brought up ever again for the sake of his newly found heart condition)

(He doesn’t tell Cosette to stop though, because he might need to know some random tidbit about Grantaire for whatever reason in the near future, you never know.)

***

Enjolras finds himself walking to Bonhomies Monday afternoon. 

He hadn’t purposefully decided to walk this way. In fact, he was debating skipping lunch to extend his office hours and asking Combeferre to pick him up a Subway sandwich. Combeferre had given him a very unimpressed look before going off to Courfeyrac’s cafe for lunch (and, no Enjolras, you’re not invited, go find Grantaire). 

And so, Enjolras finds himself standing behind a large group of students as they all crowd around Bonhomies. He can just barely see Grantaire and Jehan over the tops of the students’ heads, handing out sandwiches and chips. Grantaire looks tired, even from this distance, and Enjolras thinks about sneaking away before anybody notices he’s even here. 

Before he can, a hand comes crashing down on his shoulder and Enjolras jumps around a foot into the air. He turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Bahorel’s chest, the larger man’s chest shaking with laughter. 

Enjolras peeks at Bonhomies and resignedly realizes that Bahorel’s laughing has caught the attention of Jehan, who has in turn elbowed Grantaire. Grantaire looks amused, waving at them to come forwards and Enjolras can’t help but drift closer, Bahorel behind him. 

“Enjolras, you came!”

“Yes, well, Combeferre wouldn’t bring me a Subway sandwich.”

Much to Enjolras’s amusement, Grantaire does huff at that, his crooked nose curling up in distaste. He’s rummaging through the fridge before coming back with two wrapped sandwiches. “I thought I forbade you from eating that garbage already, what is this treachery.” 

He hands one of the sandwiches to Bahorel, his nose wrinkling further when the larger man tries handing over a wad of bills. “No, no, no. Stop handing me money or else I won’t make you any more sandwiches,” he threatens and Bahorel rolls his eyes. “Ugh, donate to the food bank or something,” Grantaire shoves a jar at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, like you would let me starve,” he grins, stuffing the cash into the jar; it’s a large plastic jar covered in glitter and the words “Food Bank” written in black sharpie. Enjolras thinks he might be in love.

“Apollo, light of my culinary life,” Grantaire sing songs as Bahorel waves goodbye. “Come, try this and let me know how it is. Much better than Subway, I can tell you that right now, and put your money away, I can’t believe you would hurt me like that.” He puts on a wounded expression, handing Enjolras the second sandwich before waving him away. Enjolras puts some money into the jar even as Grantaire pouts at him, and waves a goodbye before heading back to his office. 

He’s sitting in his office when he notices the guinea pig that’s sketched onto the wax paper. It has tiny, bulging eyes and small frame glasses and—oh. He can’t help but feel slightly pleased, folding the wax paper carefully and placing it into his desk drawer. 

The sandwich is, unsurprisingly, delicious.


	2. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He almost doesn’t recognize him at first, as a small part of him is almost surprised at the fact that Grantaire isn’t just a torso inside a food truck. Another, even smaller part of him just admires the way Grantaire’s calves look tucked under the stool. He’s bent forwards towards a sketchpad, his pencil flying across the paper. Courfeyrac already has his mug of coffee ready for him, and gives him a knowing (read, extremely smug) look when he asks for two of the pastries sitting in the display.

Enjolras might be going mad. 

Cosette has made it her life mission to bombard Enjolras with texts regarding Grantaire; then, Courfeyrac somehow finds out (it's definitely Combeferre), and Enjolras finds himself on the receiving end of thousands of snapchats of Grantaire’s face; and Grantaire himself feeds Enjolras four times a week.  

Enjolras now knows way too much about Grantaire (and seen too much, as Courfeyrac is the spawn of satan, who took Grantaire swimming in nothing but extremely tight, green, swim trunks) for it to be anything but creepy, as he still hasn’t said more than a dozen words to the man himself. 

 In fact, it’s another couple weeks before Enjolras actually sees Grantaire outside of Bonhomies. 

 When he does, it’s on a Sunday morning and Enjolras has managed to pull himself from his bed to meet Combeferre for coffee. He steps into Courfeyrac’s Cafe a couple of minutes early and he’s still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he notices a dark haired individual sitting at his usual spot. 

 He almost doesn’t recognize him at first, as a small part of him is almost surprised at the fact that Grantaire isn’t just a torso inside a food truck. Another, even smaller part of him just admires the way Grantaire’s calves look tucked under the stool. He’s bent forwards towards a sketchpad, his pencil flying across the paper. Courfeyrac already has his mug of coffee ready for him, and gives him a knowing (read, extremely smug) look when he asks for two of the pastries sitting in the display.

“Hey.” 

Grantaire starts, twisting around on the stool; he relaxes when he sees Enjolras, his eyebrows lift in surprise and the corners of his mouth twitch up in amusement. 

“Apollo, what a surprise.” He gives a mock bow, folding himself awkwardly while still managing to balance on the stool. 

“I do have a name you know.” Enjolras slides into the stool beside him and pushes the plate with the pastries on it in front of Grantaire. He catches a quick glimpse of Courfeyrac’s familiar face before Grantaire closes the sketchbook and turns to face him. “You could use it sometime.”

Grantaire grins and Enjolras takes a second to hide behind his coffee and scrutinize the man’s face. It’s a nice face, he decides, with dark, heavy brows, a crooked nose, and a puckish smile. And startlingly blue eyes that are staring at him with amusement. 

“Maybe,” the man smirks. “But Apollo suits you so much better, don’t you think? Blonde, leggy, godlike?”

Enjolras takes a hasty sip of his coffee to hide the fact that his face is flushed. “Well, it’s still not my name. I just realized, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of the food truck before.”

Grantaire looks up, surprised, before picking up a pastry. “I suppose not.” 

“I was just wondering—Since you keep on giving me sandwiches, I wanted to let you know that I have this meeting that I go to every Friday. We started it a few months back, and we meet here at Courfeyrac’s. And a lot of our mutual friends usually come to this thing. I was hoping you would join us this Friday?”

Enjolras is well aware that he’s rambling and from the smirk on Grantaire’s face, he is too. 

“You don’t have to invite me just because I give you sandwiches, Apollo.” Grantaire smiles a bit ruefully, but Enjolras can feel the tension rolling off him in waves. “I didn’t make you sandwiches so you would invite me to some meeting or whatever.”

“I didn’t—I’m not, that’s not what I meant.” Grantaire has a slightly closed off expression on his face, and Enjolras is fumbling for words. “Grantaire, I would like it if you came. You’ve been feeding me and sharing something of yours with me, and I’d like to do that too. The meetings are a pretty important part of me and I would really like it if you wanted to come.”  

Grantaire relaxes incrementally as Enjolras rambles, biting into the pastry thoughtfully. 

“Of course, I would never presume that you would find it interesting or— what I mean to say is, if you didn’t want to come, that would be fine as well. But if you’re not interested because you think I’m just inviting you out of pity or a sense of necessity, that’s not it and—“

Grantaire laughs and Enjolras trails off. 

“Enjolras, relax. I would be glad to come,” he smiles, and it’s a soft smile unlike the smirks that he usually directs towards Enjolras. “Here, I’ll give you my number and you can text me the details.” Enjolras takes the proffered phone and inputs his own details. "You’re here to meet Combeferre, right? He’s been sitting with Courfeyrac for the past five minutes.” 

Enjolras looks up to find the two in discussion, Courfeyrac’s hand resting in the crook of Combeferre’s elbow and Combeferre’s ears are pink. 

“I think it might be better if I left them to their own devices,” Enjolras says drily, handing the phone back to Grantaire. 

Grantaire starts packing his sketchbook away into a small satchel and chuckles fondly. “I mean, we’ve left them to their own devices this long and look where it’s gotten them. So much pining, it might as well be Christmas already.”

Enjolras snorts despite himself and drains the last of his coffee. “They'll get there eventually. Where are you headed to now?”

Grantaire stops and blinks at him. “I’m going shopping.” 

“Shopping?”

“Shopping for tomorrow,” Grantaire grins. “I need to stock up on some stuff for business this week, and the farmers’ markets are open on Sundays. You could come with me, if you wanted?” Grantaire looks a bit unsure, tucking the rest of his things away. “If you think Combeferre won’t notice?”

Enjolras glances back towards where Combeferre and Courfeyrac are sneaking glances at each other. Eponine’s manning the counter, glaring at Courfeyrac every once in a while when he says something especially sweet. She catches Enjolras’ eye and mouths _diabetes_ at him with a grimace on her face.   

“I think he’ll be okay.” 

  

***

  

The local farmers’ market is crowded and noisy, and Enjolras almost loses Grantaire three times before finally deciding to grab Grantaire’s hand as he slips through the crowd. Grantaire freezes for a second, eyes darting down to glance at their joined hands before giving Enjolras a pleased smile.

 It’s much easier to navigate the hordes of people, mothers and their children, hipsters—Grantaire falls over himself laughing when they bump into someone wearing Enjolras’ exact glasses— and other harried individuals, when they’re linked together.

 Grantaire seems to know several of the vendors by name, and more than a few of them give Enjolras sly glances as they pass by. Grantaire purchases tomatoes, lamb, and a large hunk of cheese which Enjolras ends up carrying, as well as an assortment of other things. 

At one stall, Grantaire buys two cartons of blueberries, opening up one and popping a berry into Enjolras’ mouth. They return to Grantaire’s car to put down the purchases and Enjolras steals another berry before he’s dragged back into the tents, led by Grantaire’s hand. 

They wander around for a bit, before finally stopping in front of a stall. There are baguettes lining crates and a tiny woman bustling around, talking to customers. Enjolras breathes in and inhales the smell of freshly baked bread. 

 When the woman sees Grantaire, her whole face lights up and Grantaire rushes to greet her, picking her up and swinging her as he starts babbling in some other language— French perhaps? Enjolras stays on the side amused, watching as Grantaire continues talking to the woman in rapid French. 

She hands him a large paper bag filled with baguettes, and noticing Enjolras, gestures for Grantaire to introduce them. 

Grantaire bounces over to Enjolras, taking his hand and pulling him to the woman.

“Enjolras, this is Floreal; Floreal, this is Enjolras.”

 “Enjolras,” Floreal’s voice is lightly accented and her gaze is amused as she looks between the two of them. “The professor you were going on about the other day?”

 Grantaire gapes at her, looking betrayed, before turning to Enjolras. “I was not going on about you—“

 “It’s really nice to meet you Floreal,” Enjolras squeezes Grantaire’s hand where it’s still clasped in his. 

 “—I just…” He pursed his lips together. “It was a terrible idea to introduce the two of you,” he mutters, dropping Enjolras’ hand to grab a roll. He breaks it in half, handing half to Enjolras, reaching into his pocket with his other hand, for his wallet. 

 Grantaire bids Floreal goodbye before they walk out again, winding around vendors and chewing on the roll. To Enjolras’ surprise, it’s a sweet roll—red raspberry, dark chocolate, Grantaire informs him—with a chewy crust and Enjolras learns that although Grantaire set up a sandwich truck, he has a secret sweet tooth. 

 Enjolras is secretly pleased that he’s learned something without the help of Cosette’s constant texts.

  

***

 

Enjolras spends the next few days fending off increasingly excited texts from Cosette— _So did you get to know his sandwiches better ;)_ — and texting, surprisingly frequently, with Grantaire. 

 On Wednesday, he forgets to eat lunch, too immersed in a discussion with some students about the rights of man. A knock on the door interrupts the heated argument that his—he doesn’t have favorites—student, Felix, is presenting to him and Cosette appears in the doorway, a salacious grin on her face. 

 “Professor Fauchelevent” Felix greets, glancing at his watch, and looks startled at the time. “Professor Enjolras, I should go.” 

 Cosette watches as Felix scrambles out of the office before turning back to Enjolras, a parcel in her hand. She hands it to him with a grin on her face and he groans internally as he sees a familiar sketch; it’s the Enjolraspig—as Grantaire had taken to calling it—passed out across the wax paper. 

 Cosette keeps staring at him, eyes widening when he carefully folds the wax paper and places into his desk, alongside all the other sketches. 

 He takes a bite of the sandwich and groans happily; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until biting into the bread. It’s sourdough, which Enjolras recognizes from Floreal’s stall, covered in a thin layer of cream cheese and mashed avocado; layers of lettuce, tomato, turkey, and red onion poked through the sides, and a drizzle of mustard. 

 He takes another couple bites before he realizes that Cosette is still staring at him, a manic grin on her face. Enjolras almost feels bad for Marius, but then he remembers how absolutely awful the months of very verbal pining were, and he takes it back. 

 "What, do I have anything on my face?” 

 “That’s not on the menu.” 

 Enjolras takes another bite before answering. “What isn’t?”

 “The sandwich you’re eating right now.” Cosette looks smug, and this is almost worse. “It isn’t on the menu. I would know, I’ve tried everything on the menu at least twice. That isn’t on the menu.”

 “I’m his guinea pig,” Enjolras shrugs, taking another large bite before answering. “He just tries out new recipes on me.” 

 “Mhmm,” Cosette looks unconvinced but does drop the subject. He knew there was a reason that they were still friends. They spend the rest of his lunch break discussing the new faculty member: Javert.

 Before Cosette leaves, she turns in the doorway, the sunlight reflecting off her hair and she does look a little like an angel. “You should invite him to the meetings on Friday.” 

 “I already did.”


	3. Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say the meeting was a disaster was an understatement.
> 
> Grantaire had slipped in late, a colorful Jehan trailing in behind him and Enjolras found himself glancing at the other man between spiels, trying to read his expression. Fortunately—or very unfortunately— Grantaire had a very expressive face.
> 
> Enjolras had decided to focus the topic of the meeting on fighting hunger, a topic which he had been furiously researching since he had noticed the donation jar. He had hoped that the familiar topic would encourage Grantaire to open up and provide some knowledge. What he hadn’t expected was Grantaire’s apathy towards the topic as a whole.
> 
> "I thought you guys met to talk about making a change,” he said with a small smile on his lips and a rather wary look in his eyes. “If I wanted to hear about food, I would have stayed in my food truck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! College has been so busy this semester that I haven't really had time for anything, but I hope you enjoy this short bit :)

To say the meeting was a disaster was an understatement.

Grantaire had slipped in late, a colorful Jehan trailing in behind him and Enjolras found himself glancing at the other man between spiels, trying to read his expression. Fortunately—or very unfortunately— Grantaire had a very expressive face.

Enjolras had decided to focus the topic of the meeting on fighting hunger, a topic which he had been furiously researching since he had noticed the donation jar. He had hoped that the familiar topic would encourage Grantaire to open up and provide some knowledge. What he hadn’t expected was Grantaire’s apathy towards the topic as a whole.

"I thought you guys met to talk about making a change,” he said with a small smile on his lips and a rather wary look in his eyes. “If I wanted to hear about food, I would have stayed in my food truck.”

Combeferre’s had gripped Enjolras’ arm tightly in warning and he took a deep breath before responding. “We’re discussing the prevention of malnutrition and feeding low-income families. Is that not enough change for you?” Combeferre’s hand dropped from his arm and Enjolras heard his friend sigh deeply in resignation.

Grantaire’s wrinkled his nose. “If we’re going to talk about preventing hunger and feeding low-income families, then you might as well start discussing food waste too. Up to forty percent of the food produced ends up in landfills instead of on the plates of the people. But what are you going to do, end capitalism?” His face contorted into a sneer and Enjolras couldn’t help but flinch at the ugly expression marring the typically amiable face.

“That’s exactly what we’re here to discuss. We’re here to fight the system, make sure the food goes where it’s supposed to go—”

“What if the food is supposed to end up in the landfills?” The room went silent, shocked as Grantaire stared at Enjolras defiantly. “You can’t end capitalism Enjolras, and the system is too big for your little gang of professors to fight. Don’t you think more people would be fighting against the system if they cared enough about ending hunger? At the end of the day, nothing’s going to change.”

“You’re fighting against hunger: I’ve seen your donations to the food banks. I’ve seen you feed some of the lower-income students,” Enjolras had demanded desperately. “You’re making a difference every single day, what makes you think the fight against hunger isn’t making a change?”

“I’m one person,” Grantaire responded, gathering up his jacket and scarf. “Sure, I make a difference in one student’s life. Maybe two. I feed them for a day and they’ve got some food in their bellies. But what makes you think that the system has changed at all?”

“Grantaire—” Jehan spoke up, looking chagrined.

Enjolras could feel Courfeyrac’s hands this time, gripping his arm tightly, but he couldn’t help bursting out, “Do you just not care at all?”

Grantaire gently pushed Jehan back into the seat with a smile before turning to Enjolras. “Thank you for inviting me Apollo, but I have to get up early tomorrow to get some things from Floreal. It was nice seeing all of you.” Giving Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet quick hugs, he left the cafe.

Combeferre had dismissed the meeting not long after, leaving Enjolras to his own thoughts.

 

***

 

Sunday morning, Enjolras woke up earlier than usual and found himself pulling on Converse and a flannel before heading to the farmer’s market, following the flow of people before finally arriving at a familiar stall. The near-constant texting between him and Grantaire had ceased since Friday’s meeting, and being rather prideful, he couldn’t work up the nerves to text the other man first. So instead, he found himself surrounded by a bunch of hipsters and baguettes on a Sunday morning.

He finds Floreal inside the stall, handing over a warm loaf of bread to a young couple. Seeing him, her face lights up and Enjolras can’t help but feel fond, even if he’s only met her once. He scratches at the back of his neck nervously as she slices open a sweet roll, handing him half.

“Has Grantaire stopped by yet?”

She looks at him curiously, but doesn’t pry. “Not yet, he should be here in a few minutes though. He’s usually very punctual.”

Sure enough, Grantaire arrives moments later, the large smile on his face dimming when he sees Enjolras. Floreal gives them both knowing looks, shoving a canvas bag filled with bread at Grantaire before shooing them out of the stall.

Enjolras follows Grantaire back to his car in silence, watching as the other man finally loads all his purchases into the small car. He breaks the silence first, clearing his throat and pointedly closing the trunk.

“About Friday night—”

“I’m really sorry about—”

Grantaire laughs sheepishly and Enjolras can’t help the small grin that appears on his face.

“Let me apologize first, I was a dick last Friday.”

“No more than I was,” Enjolras interjects quickly and they both dissolve into helpless laughter.

  
“How’s this,” Grantaire grins. “We’re both extremely sorry, but I’m more sorry. Sorry-er than you could ever imagine, and I’ll even promise to never ruin another one of your meetings again.”

“What, no! I was actually hoping to invite you to next week’s meeting. I’m not quite used to having people disagree with me, and my reaction was…”

“You wanted to invite me back to your meetings?”

“If I can’t convince you that you’re wrong and that  _you_ can make a difference—someone who’s already actively participating in the fight—then how am I supposed to convince anyone else?”

Grantaire looks at him, a strange glint in his eyes. “Okay,” he finally agrees, a wry smile on his face. “I’ll come to your meetings, but only if you come over and let me make you some brunch. You look like you could keel over at any second.”

Enjolras’ stomach chooses that moment to growl, and Grantaire laughs again, a lovely throaty sound and Enjolras ignores the sudden shiver that runs down his spine.

 

***

 

Brunch at Grantaire’s is an Event with a capital E.

Grantaire and Jehan share an apartment off campus, quite close to where Combeferre and Courfeyrac live. The apartment itself has two small bedrooms, a cozy living room filled with flower pots [“ _Is that a venus flytrap?” “That’s Jehan’s baby”]_ , and a huge refurbished kitchen. Jehan’s passed out on one of the counters, a large half-filled mug of coffee sitting in front of them, and they look up blearily when Grantaire and Enjolras enter the room. They give Grantaire a bleary look, before collapsing back into the counter with a yawn.

“Feed me” comes the muffled order and Grantaire smiles at his roommate fondly.

Enjolras offers to help as Grantaire begins pulling out vegetables and eggs from the fridge, but he’s pushed towards the stool next to Jehan. Enjolras watches as Grantaire combines flour, sugar, salt, eggs and milk, before dicing some vegetables.

Soon enough, the skillet was sizzling and Grantaire poured the batter in, forming the first crepe. Scooping some diced vegetables into the crepe, he folds it expertly into triangles and slides it onto a plate. He wafts the plate in front of the still unconscious Jehan and Enjolras can’t help but laugh as Jehan’s nose twitches.

Bossuet and Joly show up shortly after as Grantaire makes enough crepes to feed a small army, and they end up in the living room. Enjolras and Grantaire sit on one of the couches, Jehan taking over the loveseat, and Joly and Bossuet sprawl out on the carpet. The crepes are delicate and buttery, but Enjolras find himself distracted by the way Grantaire feels beside him, warm and comforting.

***

 

As he heads back home later that afternoon to the pile of papers he has yet to grade, his phone vibrates with a text.

Grantaire had sent him a photo of a grumpy cat.

Enjolras makes a face at the photo.  _What if I told you I was a dog-person._

_Here I am trying to send you a nice photo, how DARE YOU INSULT ME LIKE THIS_ Grantaire sends back and Enjolras snickers, typing a quick response before putting his phone in his pocket.

He would never admit it, but had he missed Grantaire’s texts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come find me on tumblr @influentyeol or @etheryeol

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://influentyeol.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://etheryeol.tumblr.com/)


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